


Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch

by wizardk



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Non-Binary Character, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Nicknames, Other, Public Display of Affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25883533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wizardk/pseuds/wizardk
Summary: Declan takes his revenge for the nickname he hates.
Relationships: Original D&D Character(s)/Original D&D Character(s)





	Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch

The Lemongrass’ cuisine is delicious as always, and they both clean their plates of soup for Dag, fruit-laden pancakes for Declan, and the side of saltines that came with Dag’s soup for Declan also. Dag leans back in his seat and pushes his plate away. "Don't worry about the check. I'll take it."

"Thanks," says Declan. He smiles. He's got a nice smile, the kind that makes Dag enjoy being the reason for that smile, which is why he’s paying for dinner despite Declan’s saltine thievery. It’s the kind of smile that makes Dag want to lean over and kiss it. "No problem, kid."

"I'm not a kid."

“I know.”

The gears in Declan's head turn for a few beats before he says, "Okay, sweetheart," and primly folds the napkin in his lap to put it back on the table. Dag's chest feels funny. _Sweetheart?_ He flags down a waiter, who agrees to fetch their check, and turns back to Declan. "Sweetheart, huh?"

"I want to have a nickname for you if you're gonna have one for me."

"But," says Dag, "you already _do_ have a nickname for me. You literally never use my real name. Did you forget? Declan, this is our third date -"

"That's different," Declan says. “Everyone calls you Boots and I didn’t come up with that. I want a nickname that’s specifically from me.”

“Well, I’m not taking _sweetheart_ ,” grumbles Dag. The waiter returns. Dag pays. They stand, and Declan takes his hand like he always knew Dag was going to offer it to him, and he gives him another one of those pretty smiles. “No more sweetheart. Got it, sugarplum.”

“Fuck off.” Their footsteps patter down the front steps of the Lemongrass. Declan leads him in the right direction to the guildhouse. Dag likes to walk Declan home, given what happened the first time they went out to dinner. His hand is small and solid in Dag’s hand, he keeps up a steady stream of conversation, and for their first two dates he’s kissed Dag goodnight on the front steps of the guildhouse without an ounce of embarrassment. 

Declan seems to forget about his nickname quest for the way home. He chatters about the weird dream he had, the unfortunate twisting of one of his rat’s feet, and the stupidity of society’s pressure to wear shoes. Dag listens and adds his thoughts at the appropriate times. He is not a talkative person himself, and spending time with Declan is easy when there are no awkward silences he needs to fill. Declan gives his hand a gentle squeeze and asks, “Speaking of society, do you like being called pretty? Or beautiful?”

Dag’s chest does the funny feeling again. “I suppose it’s fine.”

“I was taught that _pretty_ and _beautiful_ are for women and _handsome_ is for men, but you’ve called me pretty before when you usually use, uh, masculine words towards me, and I’m not sure which one is correct.”

“That’s close enough, but nobody would think it’s weird to call a woman handsome or a man pretty. And I’ve been calling you those because I assumed you were comfortable with that, but if there’s something else…?”

“I’m okay with whatever gender of words you want to call me, I think,” Declan says. "Objectively I'm really pretty." The rest of the walk home is occupied with Declan's rambling about how frustrating it is to find appropriate outfits with Althea's tulle deficit. Dag listens. Declan is nice to listen to, even if what he's talking about holds little to none of Dag's interest; his accent gets stronger when he's passionate about something, just like Dag's own, and he finds it charming. They pause when Declan steps in something and needs to wipe it off with a handkerchief he produces out of some hidden pocket. Under a streetlight, the copper in Declan's dark red hair comes out, and Dag thinks his objective prettiness has never been less in question.

"Home safe again," Dag says, as they approach the guildhouse. Declan looks up at the building. "Too bad. I wanted to spend more time with you."

Warmth spills in Dag's face at his words. Declan has developed a knack for doing that; Dag's unused to these casual statements of affection, and Declan uses them all the time. Dag considers before saying, "Do you want to come to my apartment tomorrow afternoon?"

Declan turns quickly to look at him, beaming. "Yeah, I do. I've never been there before. What's your address?"

Dag gives it. Declan repeats it back to him a couple times. He reaches up and tugs Dag's collar, silently asking for his goodnight, so Dag leans down and cups Declan's cheek with one hand before kissing him. Declan sighs and kisses back. He's admittedly terrible at it, but he's trying. After their first, he admitted that he had not kissed anyone in twenty years, and he wasn't sure what to do anymore. He improves with each try, though, and pulls away from Dag with a big smile on his lips. "I can't wait for tomorrow."

"I'm excited too, kid."

Declan hugs him around the middle. "See you soon, honeycake."

"You're not even good at the nicknames," groans Dag. "Why can't you use a normal one?"

"I'm exploring my options." Declan releases him and hurries up the steps. He pauses at the door. "Goodnight, darling."

The door clicks shut over a swirl of tulle. Dag stands staring at it, his heart beating faster, a rumbling purr starting up in his chest. _Darling._ The word rolls off Declan’s tongue in his Landolonyan accent like it’s music. Damn it, how does Declan keep making him wax poetic about the smallest things? Dag walks home, purring still, thinking of all the ways he’s going to have to get back at Declan. He thinks of more stupid nicknames. He thinks of how big these new feelings are.

* * *

“Hey, beautiful.”

Dag tries furiously not to enjoy the compliment as he lets Declan inside. It's nerve-wracking letting someone into his apartment for the first time, especially when it's Declan, especially when he spent the morning rehearsing his speech. Maybe this is fast for him, but Declan is special, and he's certainly expressed his affection enough times to make Dag confident he'll say yes. Who else can say they literally fell into Dag's arms from fifty feet up? “Hello. How hard was my place to find?”

“I knocked on a couple other doors, but I’m here now." He’s wearing a white blouse with what appears to be tiny teacups embroidered on the sleeves and a pair of short jean shorts. As always, he’s barefoot. “Nice to see you.”

They settle on the couch with Declan sitting in his lap, laying his head on Dag’s shoulder, and observing his surroundings. His weight is comforting and warm. Dag traces over a patch of rough skin on Declan’s thigh. “Did you come over just to cuddle?”

“Mmhm. And to see where my pudding-pop lives.” Dag lives in a tiny apartment, one room plus a bathroom, furnished with enough stuff to pretend like he has people over. The wall art is his knife collection and a few pinned-up papers from the Professor. He doesn't _need_ that much space. He only needs to sleep and eat here; the things he really needs to keep around fit in his travel pack. Understandably, Declan has not complimented the decor.

Dag resists the strong urge to shove Declan off his lap. “Not that one.”

“Cupcake?”

“Not that one, either. What’s with the food theme?”

Declan finds the hem of Dag’s sleeve and plays with it. “Because you’re sweet.”

“The worse the pet name, the _less_ likely I am to let you kiss me again.”

“You’re my sunshine,” Declan says, moving his hand down to Dag’s and holding it. Dag threads their fingers together. “That’s not so bad. Hey, if I was going to call you something like _prettyboy_ , what would I put instead of boy?”

Declan actually looks flustered. Dag internally cheers. “Um, you could just say it like that. I’m okay with being called a boy.”

“Okay, prettyboy,” says Dag, and Declan hides his face. “Shut up, muffin.”

“I’ll kick you out of my house if you call me muffin again. Does that mean that if you dated someone, you’d be their boyfriend? Or something else?” He's leading closer, and the in is right there. All he has to do is ask the question once Declan replies.

“Boyfriend is fine.” Declan mumbles something afterwards that Dag doesn’t catch. Dag pokes him. “What was that?”

“I said I would like to be _your_ boyfriend, darling,” Declan mumbles at a slightly louder volume. His face remains buried in Dag’s shoulder. He can practically feel the heat coming off Declan’s cheeks. “That’s what I want you to call me.”

Oh, fuck. This was not how it had gone in his head. Dag fumbles for words that aren't repeating what Declan just said. "Shit." 

"No, not that one."

"No, I'm - it's just -" Dag sighs and presses his nose to Declan's hair. "Yes. I'd like that too. And I like it when you call me darling."

Declan makes a soft sound of happiness and wraps his arms around Dag. "Sure thing, darling."

* * *

Dag answers to a variety of nicknames over his first two weeks as _officially_ Declan's boyfriend with varying resistance. Sweetpea, dreamboat, doll, handsome, hot stuff, lovebug, whiskers. They go on a trip to the marketplace where Declan loudly orders two steak pies for himself and his babycakes, which makes Dag glare at him murderously, but Declan soothes him five minutes later with a "can you hold this for me, babe?" tossed out like it's nothing. When they feed carrots to ducks on the river, Declan points out the one with the chipped bill with a "hey, snugglebutt, look at that one," and laughs uproariously when Dag actually turns and looks.

They play cards with the guild one night and Dag gets up to refill his glass. Declan holds out his own mug and asks, "Could you get me more tea, beloved?" The rest of the guild breaks out into giggles, with Dag threatening to stab them if anyone but Declan called him that. The lesson is lost on Declan. Dag receives a "goodnight, hunk," on his way out the door.

An evening in Dag's apartment leads them to talking about scars. The relief in Declan's eyes when he lifts his shirt and Dag reacts only with, "I still think you’re cute," makes Dag's heart ache. Whatever caused the raised, twisted scar across his stomach must have taken painful months to recover from. Dag can barely imagine what the process was like with minimal magical intervention. Declan lets his shirt drop and twists his hands together in his lap. "I was so worried it would gross you out. You really are sunshine.”

“I’m the least sunshiney person I know, baby,” Dag tells him. “You have an odd way of looking at people.”

“ _My_ sunshine. You make me happy. And I’m not a baby. That’s just like calling me kid, but worse.”

“Baby is a nickname people use for their partners, too. You already called me babe.” Dag starts purring. He can’t help himself. “I could call you snugglebutt, if you wanted. Since you’re so into that name. I could call you beloved.”

“I’m not ready to say that to each other outside a joke.”

“Could I call you _my_ Declan?”

A wide smile spreads across Declan’s face. “Yeah. I’m your Declan, and you’re my badoodlykitten.” 

He ducks with expert ease away from Dag’s vicious pillow attack.


End file.
